


Just This Once

by orphan_account



Series: Just This Once [1]
Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Awkwardness, Infidelity, Kissing, M/M, Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 01:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Glenn stops by Daryl's cell after his return, it isn't because he wants to talk about Merle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just This Once

Daryl Dixon couldn't have contained the small grin that crossed his face as Carol exited his cell, even if he'd wanted to. She'd left him feeling embarrassingly warm and grateful on the inside from her words. The grin probably looked more like a grimace or perhaps a smirk from someone who didn't know him well. Basically anyone aside from Merle or Carol.

He stretched out more fully on his bunk, playing with an arrow absentmindedly. He was more pleased by the reception he and Merle had received than he would ever admit. Everyone seemed truly ecstatic to have him back, and they hadn't shot Merle on sight! It felt like validation. He ought not be so happy considering the problems they were facing with the so-called Governor and the fact that Merle was locked up, but it was unavoidable.

The prison was dank, dark and forbidding. But it was also home for now, even if it was no longer safe. Well, it had never been truly safe;  _nowhere_  was. But with his jacket folded under his head and his crossbow propped within easy reach against the wall, it felt downright cozy.

The bunk was uncomfortable, bed-frame unforgivably hard against his back through the thin mattress. Considering all the energy he'd expended that day, however, it felt better than any feather bed he'd ever slept on (which had been few enough). The thick, spongy pillow (with the addiction of his jacket) softer than one stuffed with downy feathers.

He was thinking he wouldn't mind spending a night in there catching up on sleep, despite how adamantly he'd refused a cell when they'd first begun occupying the space. His eyelids were just drifting closed, the hand holding the arrow falling limply against his stomach, when a scuffling sound outside the cell caused him to tense and sit up immediately, hand jumping to the knife at his belt.

It was only Glenn, looking a bit wary and uncertain. Daryl relaxed infinitesimally, eyes honing in on his bruised and battered face, feeling a twinge of pain in his chest and guilty as hell for the things Merle had done.

"Hey," Daryl said quietly, voice slightly hoarse and echoing off the concrete walls. He was feeling squirmy and defensive already, preparing for the inevitable. He'd known since he'd made the decision to return to the prison –with Merle hot on his heels– that Glenn and Maggie would be pissed.

Glenn didn't look angry though. At least, not yet. He stood just inside the room, barely past the entrance. His right hand rested on the cell door, curled around one of the metal bars. Glenn didn't meet his gaze, seeming content with looking at Daryl's left eyebrow instead. "Can I sit?" He gestured weakly at the mattress with his free hand.

Daryl hesitated a moment, wondering what the fuck this could possibly be about. He figured if it was about Merle, Glenn would've had a harder time containing his wrath. A single ludicrous thought leapt to his mind: _What if he wants to kill me?_

He mentally rolled his eyes at himself and scooted over, placing his feet solidly on the floor and shrugging at the empty spot beside him. "Sure thing, kid." Glenn was far from a kid, but sometimes the word came unbidden to his lips when they were speaking. Usually when it happened, Glenn would inform him, in no uncertain terms, that if Daryl ever used the noun to describe him again, the group would soon be short a crossbowman. Now, Glenn didn't even appear to notice his unintentional use of it.

Glenn pushed away from the bars and moved across the room much too slowly before sinking onto the bunk next to Daryl and running a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. The motion made the bruises stand out more clearly, causing Daryl to wince slightly.

With a deep breath and Glenn turned to face him looking a little lost, but his brown eyes held Daryl's pale blues determinedly all the same. "Listen, Daryl," he began, "I just- this- I-" He cut himself off looking frustrated.

"Just spit it out, Glenn. I wanna get some sleep before those Woodbury assholes come back." In truth, Daryl was now wide awake from simple curiosity.

Glenn reddened a bit at the harsh tone. He looked more skittish than Daryl had ever seen him, like a loud noise would have him jumping out of his skin. It reminded him of a squirrel he'd shot once, who couldn't seem to decide if it wanted to remain and stare Daryl down or make a dash for the nearest tree.

"I just wanted to say thank you. For coming back, I mean," Glenn clarified unnecessarily.

"Don't need to thank me. 'S where I belong. Here, with you guys." Daryl supposed a simple "you're welcome" would have sufficed, but he was completely mystified by this little visit. Also, Glenn's nervousness was beginning to grate on his nerves.

"No," Glenn protested. "I  _do_  need to thank you. We can't get by without you. We need you here and if it hadn't been for you, I don't know how many we would've lost today."

Daryl just scrunched his nose, trying to figure out why Glenn would sound so damn nervous over a simple thank-you. "Yer welcome, Glenn." He meant it too.

"I was scared I wouldn't see you again..." Glenn murmured the words so quietly that he had to strain to hear them.

They sat in agonizing silence for almost a minute as Daryl tried to figure out how best to respond to that. A very charged silence that was causing his skin to prickle, though he couldn't work out why that was. It was broken when Glenn sighed heavily, as if he was steeling himself for something and shifted.

For an extremely relieved moment, Daryl thought he was going to get up and leave. Instead, Glenn scooted closer to him. So close, that their thighs were pressed together and their shoulders bumped. The warmth from Glenn's body soaked into his. Daryl turned his head to the side, heat suffusing his face at the sudden contact.

He started a little when a shaking hand cupped the back of his neck, fingers winding into the strands of his hair. Daryl shivered involuntarily as warm breath ghosted across his cheekbone and he forced himself to look at Glenn again. Any words he might have spoken got caught in his throat.

Glenn's face was right there, so close. Even in the dim light the bruises stood out harshly. Daryl's intermingled feelings of terror, anticipation and confusion were mirrored back at him from Glenn's eyes. "Just let me," Glenn whispered, leaning closer until their foreheads were pressed together, one of the few parts of Glenn's face that wasn't bruised.

Daryl brought his hands up and clutched Glenn's shoulders tightly, preparing to shove him away. Instead, he ended up grabbing fistfuls of his shirt when Glenn's mouth suddenly pressed hard against his.

Their lips were ridiculously mashed together for a couple seconds, eyes watching each other with blatant shock before Glenn's eyelids drifted closed. His lips softened and began moving gently yet sensually against Daryl's, kissing his upper and lower lip, letting the tip of his tongue drift across the tightly closed seam of Daryl's mouth. Both their lips were slightly chapped, but Daryl couldn't deny that it felt... nice.

Heart beating a frantic tattoo off his rib cage, Daryl decided to give in to it, not even certain if he really wanted to. He shut his own eyes and tugged Glenn closer as he opened his mouth. Glenn took immediate advantage and slid inside, tongue tangling with Daryl's for a bit before flicking upwards and tracing delicate flickering patterns against the roof of his mouth.

Daryl gasped at the unexpected intensity of the sensation and pulled away briefly, panting. It had been so long since he'd kissed anyone, let alone done  _other_  things, that he was actually beginning to get turned on from just a bit of necking. From another  _guy_ , no less!

He began shaking his head in denial of the entire situation, looking firmly at his own lap when Glenn's hands cupped his face, thumbs sweeping over his cheekbones. Then those lips were back again and Daryl forgot about thinking and worrying, feeling like he was thirteen years old again and playing seven minutes in heaven with Pamela Blake. The flavor of Glenn's toothpaste permeated Daryl's taste buds, setting them tingling as his lips and tongue met Glenn's again and again in a deliciously slick, hot rhythm that soon had Daryl's cock straining against his fly. He tried to ignore it, keeping his hands safely locked around Glenn's shoulders. He forgot to care about the fact that Glenn was a man; and not single either.

It ended as abruptly as it had begun.

Just when Daryl had begun feeling truly desperate, toes curling in his boots as the kisses they traded became sloppier and harder, Glenn broke away. Their mouths disconnected with a wet suctiony, sound. Panting harshly, Daryl let go of him instantly, clenching his hands into fists at his sides. The return of his confusion combined with his arousal left him feeling slow and off-kilter. Embarrassment began settling in when Glenn rose jerkily to his feet, causing the metal frame of Daryl's bunk to creak.

"I'm sorry," Glenn stammered. "I had to- just this once." His eyes darted to Daryl than away again and he began moving to leave, face clouded with shame.

Daryl finally found his voice. "What'd ya mean by that?" He couldn't keep the bite from his voice. His tongue felt thick and clumsy, his lips were swollen and his dick was hard as fuck, all of which were putting him in an awful mood. "You thought 'bout this before?"

Glenn lit looked like a little boy who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. The truth hit Daryl much later than it would have should have.  _He likes me…_

"It doesn't matter," Glenn muttered quietly yet firmly. "I'm with Maggie. I love her."

"I didn't say I wanted anything from you," Daryl snapped, anger overriding everything else.

Glenn, looking stricken, left swiftly after that with another whispered 'sorry'.

Daryl could only sit stock-still for the next half-an-hour as he waited for his heart rate to slow, the echoes of Glenn's erratic hurried footsteps ringing in his ears long after they'd died away in the corridor. Eventually he simply flopped back onto his uncomfortable mattress and rolled over, pressing his face into the mouldering pillow. He took deep slow breaths, not allowing himself to yank the pillow to his crotch and rut against it.

Even though he hadn't thought he liked guys, he couldn't help the way the throbbing of his bruised mouth only made him want more. And it wasn't Carol or Beth he thought of when he finally gave in and reached down to touch himself.

Afterward, his eyes felt watery and itchy. He rubbed the heel of his hand against them, grimacing in self-disgust and a growing resentment for Glenn that had begun when he'd initially refused to accept Merle at the prison after escaping from Woodbury. Daryl felt used and dirty and guilty, even though all they'd done was kiss.

He'd never gotten that kind of vibe from Glenn before, never would have thought that he'd- that he'd-  _Why didn't I punch him?_ Daryl wondered.  _Why the fuck did I kiss him back?_

The question was too complex and terrifying for him to want to unravel at the moment, and he managed to slip into a waking doze with a hand gripping his knife. He slept badly, made restless by feverish and confusion-riddled dreams. All of them featured a man with brown eyes and dark, silky hair.

**Author's Note:**

> Was re-watching season 3 and... yeah...


End file.
